


Safer Sex for Mutants

by Magik3



Series: Katyana Future Middle-Age [4]
Category: X-Men (Comicverse)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-05
Updated: 2017-09-09
Packaged: 2018-10-28 09:24:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10828398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Magik3/pseuds/Magik3
Summary: Prof. Illyana Rasputin gets talked into teaching the class "Safer Sex for Mutants" after Rachel Grey is indisposed. Kitty shows up to help, of course.





	1. In Class

**Author's Note:**

> This is part of the future in which Illyana and Kitty are happily (and sometimes wickedly) married middle-aged professors at the school for gifted youngsters. Ch. 2 is the explicit sex part for anyone who wants to hurry to there or skip that.

  
Kurt met me in the front hall looking frazzled. Blue and frazzled, not a good look on him. And although he was muttering under his breath in German, it didn’t sound obscene enough. I didn’t have class that afternoon and was on my way back from the store with a foolish amount of ice cream and popcorn, so I went for the kitchen and let him trail me.  
  
“What’s up?” I asked as I crammed pints into the freezer. Movie night was a revered institution and it was my turn to provide the food.  
  
“Can you take Professor Grey’s class this afternoon?” he asked.  
  
“Is it anything I can teach?”  
  
“I suspect so,” he said.  
  
“What happened to her?” I asked, building my second row of ice cream pints along the freezer shelf.  
  
“Telepathic version of the stomach flu, I gather," he grumbled.  
  
“What does she spew out of her where?" I asked and then thought better of it. "Nevermind, don’t tell me. Yes, I’ll teach her class. Might hijack it and teach sorcery, though. Will she care?”  
  
“Um, no, if you can, by all means … “ he was stammering so I shut the freezer and turned around.  
“It’s something lame, isn’t it? Neuroanatomy of telepathy? Or that awful legal consequences seminar?”  
  
“You promise you’ll teach it?” he asked.  
  
“Yeah, how bad can it be?”  
  
“It’s, um, Safer Sex for Mutants.”  
  
“It … what?!”  
  
“Room 202, starts in fifteen minutes. Thanks so much,” he said very quickly and vanished in a puff of darkness and sulfur.  
  
“Kurt!”  
  
He didn’t reappear. I went to the front office. No one. Just a sign “back in 20 minutes.”  
  
Really, how hard could it be? Two dozen horny mutant teens against my three decades of real life sexual experience—that could be a fair fight. Maybe?  
  
Just in case, on my way down the hall I texted Kitty: _911_  
  
She sent back: _demons or aliens?_  
  
I wrote: _Me teaching Grey’s class—Safer Sex for Mutants._  
  
She sent back a bunch of emoji that included laughing, dancing figures and many eggplants. What was _that_ supposed to mean?  
  
Room 202 was unusually packed with students. When I walked in, someone on the far side from the door muttered, “Oh shit.”  
  
“Hey she gets more action than Grey,” someone else whispered back.  
  
“No way, she’s married," came the reply.  
  
At the front of the room, I turned around and said, “I can hear you. I do get more action than Grey _because_ I am married. And I got handed this class fifteen minutes ago so help me out here.”  
  
“There’s a stack of note cards on the desk,” one student said. “We wrote down questions. So it wouldn’t get weird.”  
  
“Right,” I said.  
  
Weird in three, two, one … I picked up the cards. The first one was just a drawing of a penis shooting lasers. No way that was randomly on top. Someone had drawn it, probably minutes ago, and placed it on top of the deck to throw Grey. And now that I thought about it, I really wished I could’ve seen that.  
  
I held it up, turning slowly so everyone could appreciate the crude artwork. Then I said, “I can think of three ways to prevent injury from this kind of mutation. Who can guess one?”  
  
“Super laser-proof condom?” someone ventured.  
  
“Very good. There’s both tech and magic that can create that effect, so you can take your pick. Another?”  
  
A tall kid in the front row raised his hand, “Sidebar, Professor, but how would that guy fight people?”  
  
“Assuming this is a human penis and that it’s on a guy,” I said. “I guess it depends on whether the lasers require an erection. What do you think?”  
  
His copper cheeks went ruddy bronze with his blush. “Uh, yeah, maybe.”  
  
A few kids in the back row were starting to snicker. I had them in my sorcery class and they were used to my straight-faced humor.  
  
“Then I’d say we’d need to give that mutant a suit that provides them with the ability to sustain an erection and shoot lasers without terrifying or offending the general public. And to answer my previous question, the two other ways I thought of were get a power-blocking serum, spell or mutant … or learn how to enjoy sex without whatever causes the deadly laser peen.”  
  
The class broke into laughter then and I grinned at them.  
  
I flipped to the next card and said, “Good consent question: ‘how often does she have to say yes?’ She, or he, or they, ideally you want your partner or partners to be saying yes often and enthusiastically."  
  
“Like every time?” someone asked.  
  
“Yes, yes, yes,” Kitty said from the doorway.  
  
Her hair was wind-tossed, half careless bun and half curling strands around her cheeks and delicate neck. She still had her reading glasses on, must’ve been in her office when I texted, and she was smirking over the top of them. I remembered the recent time when I suggested she wear the reading glasses to bed and how well that had gone. She’d been saying yes a lot then too.  
  
Because I was facing the back of the room, I saw her wink before any of the students had turned to look. She has as good a streak of wickedness as I do, one of the reasons we work so well together, but she's a lot sweeter about hers than I am about mine. Most of the time. This might not have been one of the sweet times.  
  
“Wow, Professor Magik can blush,” one of the kids said.  
  
“Way to bail me out,” I told Kitty.  
  
She leaned in the doorway and crossed her arms. “If you don’t want my help …” She was in her cute professor look: loose pants but a tight sweater over a button-down shirt with a crisp collar.  
  
I told her, “Not sure I need your help now. This lot might be beyond help. They thought we stopped getting any when we got married.”  
  
Kitty snorted and walked through the room to join me in front. I split the notecards into two piles, handed her the thicker pile.  
  
“What if my powers occur during sex?” she read. “If they’re life-threatening, I’m afraid you’re going to need to talk to the doc, see if there’s something she can give you to turn them off. Believe me, the embarrasmemt of talking to the doc is so much less than the embarrasment of having to be rushed there in a mutant power sex emergency. In the first instance, you've still got clothes on. If your powers aren't dangerous, then experiment. Try things. See if there are activities that are less likely to activate your powers.” She turned to me, “Anything to add.”  
  
I grinned at her, remembered we were in front of a class and toned it down. “If you’re with someone whose powers aren’t completely under their control, be patient. Don’t let them get to down on themselves. Stress makes a lot of your powers more intense. You’ll all get better with time.”  
  
“Powers or sex?” someone snarked from the back.  
  
“Both,” I said. “Practice.”  
  
A hand went up in the back and Kitty pointed. The student asked, "Have there been any mutant powers sex emergencies here? What do we do if that happens?"  
  
"Same as the emergencies that don't involve sex," I said. "But you're trying to get us to gossip, aren't you? The answers are: Logan, Logan, Logan -- seriously we need to invent bone claw condoms -- Iceman, Psylocke … does that thing with Grey count?"  
  
"It does not," Kitty said. "And Rogue outpaced Logan a decade ago."  
  
"Oh yeah," I added. "Kids, if you have a skin-contact power, please consider asking the doc for gloves and other barriers, and if it's a late night emergency, then saran wrap is your best friend."  
  
"For real?" one asked.  
  
"Yes, and if sweat will transmit your power, don't use the microwaveable kind, it's porous."  
  
Kitty blinked at me in an unspoken, _How do you know that?_  
  
I shrugged and said, "It'll do in a pinch against herpes, so it stands to reason."  
  
She gave me the we're-having-a-talk-later look and I replied with the is-it-clothing-optional raised eyebrow. But then I had to stop looking at her because I can only do brash for so long before it turns back into awkwardness that I wish came off as stoic but does not.  
  
I flipped over my next card. Blinked. It said: “I’m part Kree and I’ve got tentacles for my junk. How do I tell someone so they don’t freak out?” I showed it to Kitty.  
  
“Wow, nice,” she said. “We could role play it.”  
  
“I used to like when you said that.” I held the card out to her. “All yours, Professor Pryde, role play away.”  
  
“It was your question. You’ll owe me,” she said.  
  
“Put it on my tab.”  
  
She took the card and placed it on her stack, set the whole stack down on the desk. Then she put her arm around my shoulders, still facing the class.  
  
“Pretend we’ve been making out,” she said.  
  
“Aww, no demo?” someone in the back asked and got hushed by a neighbor who said, “Dude, she’s fucking ninja, watch it.”  
  
“Fucking ninja,” I whispered, chuckling, and Kitty stepped on my foot. Kind of hard, too.  
  
“So we’ve been kissing and it’s clear there’s some interest, then I’d slow down the action and say, ‘I want to talk about something.’” She was looking at me over the top of her glasses with her dark honey brown eyes. Or maybe dark maple syrup. Dark, brown, golden, liquid and sweet—I couldn’t settle on the analogy.  
  
“Uh-huh,” I said because I almost forgot what we were doing. I was still back at ‘fucking ninja,’ which I planned to use later in bed, and at the same time falling into her eyes.  
  
She sat back, pulled her arm away, and asked, “Are you paying attention? This is important.”  
  
“I am now,” I told her.  
  
“I like you and I want this relationship to keep happening, but there’s something I need to tell you and I’m afraid you’re going to freak out. I’m afraid maybe you won’t like me the way I am.”  
  
I took her hand, ran my thumb across her fingers. “I really like you too. And I might react a little. You know me, I react to a lot of stuff, but …”  
  
Kitty shook her head, tapped my hand. “You should probably not role play being good at this conversation. We're supposed to be kids."  
  
I sighed and looked heavenward, dropped her hand, crossed my arms, squared my shoulders and my jaw. “Fine. What is it?”  
  
“Are you going to freak out?”  
  
“No, I never freak out," I snapped. "My shit is always together. Are you going to tell me or what? Because if we don’t go back to making out soon, I am seriously going to lose my boner.”  
  
Most of the class lost it at that point. And Kitty was fighting not to smile.  
  
“Hey, I’m scared,” she said. “If this relationship is important to you, I need you to really listen to me, not joke about it.”  
  
“Sorry,” I grumbled. “I’m listening.”  
  
“Okay well you don’t really notice when I’m in clothes, but I’m a human-alien hybrid and my, um, girl parts aren’t particularly human.”  
  
I shook my head at her. “Girl parts? At least say ‘junk,’ we’re not eighty.”  
  
“My junk isn’t human,” she said.  
  
“Are there teeth? Or needles, spines, sharp things?”  
  
“Uh, no.”  
  
“Cool. So it kind of sounds like you think we could get naked together sometime?”  
  
“Yeah, if you want to," she said. "But what if you don’t like how it looks or feels? What if we get there and it’s a deal-breaker?”  
  
I put my arms around her. I couldn’t help it. She was doing such a good job of looking dejected and anxious, and I wondered if she was drawing on all the times she’d phased during sex and the embarrassment she still had about that. And, okay, I had some too because it's not like she always phased by herself. Though now that I thought about it, she never phased the sheets with us. That'd be a simple fix. I'd have to mention it, but way later.  
  
I told her, “Look, I’ll admit that if there’s a bunch of eyeballs down there or, like, a third hand, I’m going to freak out a bit, but we’ll work it out. I’m not in this relationship because of your junk. I’m here because I like you.”  
  
She gave me the “damn, I could phase your clothes off right now” look and I scooted away from her because there were so very many pairs of eyes staring intently at us.  
  
“Okay,” Kitty said, with a long breath in. “So the key aspects there were: number one, I communicated that I was feeling, afraid, and that this was important to me, so she could respond to that first; two, I made sure she was listening; three, she did listen and provided a compassionate space. Questions?”  
  
“What if she’d wanted to say no?”  
  
I said, “Then, ideally, I’d make sure it wasn’t about her as a person. As in: ‘wow, thank you for telling me. I really like you but I don't feel ready for that.’ And then there could be more conversation about whether that meant more dating without sex or breaking up, or whatever else you kids have made up for relationship configurations.”  
  
Kitty flipped over her next card. “How do you know if a girl really had an orgasm?” She peered out at the class, managed not to look at me, and said, “You ask her. Bonus points if you make it really safe for her to tell you if she didn’t have one. More bonus points if you talk and try some things and figure out what does work for her. Same applies to all the genders and biologies."  
  
I was thumbing through my cards so that I wouldn’t look at her either. One or more of us was about to get blushing again. Probably me, because she could always tell when I had an orgasm; I was usually both loud and quite wet. Of course I didn't sometimes fall through the world when I had one. At least I knew she was having a good time when she phased involuntarily, even if I had to wait a bit for her to get back from the sub-sub-basement.  
  
I passed up one question that was probably a joke and contemplated, “How do you know if a person is flirting with you?” But Kitty leaned toward me, holding out a card from her stack. It said; “I’m nonbinary and the person I’m dating assumes things about how sex is supposed to go that don’t feel comfortable to me.”  
  
I nodded to her and took it. Handed her the flirting question. She read it aloud and said, "Lots of touch is a good sign. Also if they laugh at your stupid jokes. If you have good jokes, it's harder to tell, so memorize some bad ones."  
  
I read the class the nonbinary question. The quiet in room got quieter. I said, “First, if something does not feel comfortable, that’s a sign to stop and talk about it. Anybody who cares about you is going to listen to your requests to change things up in a way that feels good.”  
  
I added, “And second, on this nonbinary point specifically, if you’re human, your junk is basically the same as any other human. We’ve all got phalloclitoral tissues that can look like a penis or a clit or both. Clits are quite long and extend behind the tissue of the vulva …”  
  
I trailed off because there was more heavy silence in the room and half the students looked confused as anything but desperately trying to understand. Right. How many of them actually knew the difference between vulva and vagina to start with?  
  
“Okay look,” I held up two fingers together. “Pretend this is a penis.” Then I flipped my hand down and opened the fingers in an upside-down peace sign. “Same thing around the vaginal opening. Both a penis and a clit have a head and a shaft. Easy to find the head, right? Tip of the penis or the external part of the clit."  
  
I held my two fingers up together and tapped the top, saying, "tip of the penis," held my fingers down and open, tapped where they joined and said, "external part of the clit."  
  
Fingers up again, I ran my other index finger up and down them. "Shaft of the penis." Flipped the upside down peace sign and traced my spread fingers. "Shaft of the clit is split around the vaginal opening. If you press into the skin between inner and outer labia, you'll feel the clitoral legs that form the shaft."  
  
Two dozen pairs of eyes were wide and staring at me. And Kitty too, but she was smiling her thoughtful, this-is-awesome smile combined with a glint of mischief that suggested if I brought up “fucking ninja” later, she’d be all over “pretend this is a penis.”  
  
I clearned my throat and boldly went on. “Then there’s the labioscrotal region, that’s easy to see the similarities, you’ve got balls or outer labia or some combo of those. You can treat them the same. That’s going to vary more person to person, what somebody likes.”  
  
“Yeah but guys don’t have a …” the student asking the question trailed off.  
  
“Vagina?” I offered. “Technically they do, it’s just really tiny and you can’t get there from here. It's up by the bladder and doesn't do anything. The important thing is that people tend to assume that if someone’s got a vagina they want or will accept penetration, but that’s not true. Most people with vaginas still get their orgasms from clitoral stimulation—so you need to check in with your partners, find out what really gets them off. There are so many ways to have fun with your respective junk, whether it’s an innie, an outie, alien, whatever. Do not get stuck in a rut. And for fuck’s sake, talk to each other.”  
  
I glanced at the clock. We only had a few minutes left in the class.  
  
“We didn’t cover everything,” I told Kitty.  
  
“Maybe we need a second session," she said. "But in the mean time, if you’re sexually active and don’t know how to avoid STIs and pregnancy, go see the doc. She’s wonderful. Plus she can help with any situations involving your powers. And you can talk to either of us. So be safe, be respectful and do not screw around in places where someone can walk in on you. I’d like to get through this whole academic year without seeing any of you with your pants off.”  
  
Some students filed out of the room. More came up to talk to us. Kitty got a bunch of questions about controling powers during sex. Her answers tended to be: learn breathing techniques, don’t panic, experiment.  
  
I was asked to clarify how everyone’s human anatomy is basically the same, which led to an in-depth discussion of clitoral legs, complete with more hand gestures. I felt less ridiculous than I thought I would. This was all stuff I wish I'd known a lot younger.  
  
Kitty knew I was a total softie about these kids. I never wanted anyone to hurt the way I had. The way most of us had before we got to the school. And it drove me crazy that I couldn't protect all of them, but here, at least, we'd do everything we could.  
  
That was probably why Kurt ambushed me with this class in the first place. Was Grey even sick? Now that I thought about it "telepathic stomach flu" sounded very bullshitty. Kitty probably put him and Grey up to the whole thing. Damn.  
  
  



	2. After Class

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After teaching "Safer Sex for Mutants," in the relative privacy of Kitty's office, Illyana and Kitty put some of the class principles into practice.

  
Kitty had to go handle a parent-related situation while I was still answering questions. I didn't want to intrude on that, so I went back to the kitchen to sample the ice cream, make sure it was okay for tonight and ground myself after all those questions.  
  
Twenty minutes later, I got a text from Kitty saying: _Come to my office, there’s paperwork._  
  
I put the ice cream away and headed toward her office, texting back: _There is not._  
  
She responded: _It’s a Safer Sex class, of course there is._  
  
I stalked into her office. She wasn't at her desk or the bookshelf near it. Behind me? Without turning, I said, “There is no way you’re going to get me to do paperwork about this.”  
  
She shut the door and locked it.  
  
“Oh,” I said. “That kind of paperwork.”  
  
I turned as she was pushing off the locked door, got my arms around her. Her hands came up to the sides of my face. She kissed me hard, forcing me to step back until my ass hit the edge of her desk.  
  
Breathless, between kisses, she said, “Next time you teach that, make sure I’m out of the country, maybe off planet. Or that we're alone … alone works.”  
  
“I hear you’re a fucking ninja,” I managed to say, mostly into her mouth because I wasn’t going to stop kissing her.  
  
She put her hand over my crotch and grabbed a handful of fabric, fingers pushing against me. I ground against her hand. She gave me a minute of that hard pressure before she phased my pants and boxers through my body and dropped them on the floor.  
  
Kneeling in front of me, she put her palms on my inner thighs and pushed my legs open further. “I had trouble paying attention in class,” she said in a ditzy girl voice. “I’m afraid I’m going to need to see that anatomy lesson again. Where are the clitoral legs?”  
  
“Uh, here,” I choked the words out around my gasping breath. She was so close I could feel her breath on my clit. I reached down and put one finger on either side of my inner lips, along the very soft, super sensitive skin.  
  
“You have to kind of press in or you won’t hit the clit itself,” I told her and demonstrated.  
  
“Oh, like this?” She pushed my outer lips open further and ran her tongue along the inside, pressing hard.  
  
I groaned and put my hands back on the desk fast so I wouldn’t crumple. One hand slid in a pile of papers and I shoved them out of the way. She was licking up and down, flicking my clit with the tip of her tongue and cycling back down again.  
  
When she put her mouth on my clit and bobbed up and down on it, I grabbed a handful of her hair. “Koshka, stop.”  
  
She looked up, worried.  
  
“Your office isn’t soundproofed. And if you keep doing that …”  
  
“Oh I am.”  
  
“I am going to get … very loud.”  
  
“No you’re not,” she said.  
  
I stared at her. We both knew how loud I could get.  
  
“You are going to handle that, Illyana Rasputin, so that I can give you a blow job on my desk, so I can remember this when I'm doing all my damned paperwork.”  
  
“Fucking ninja,” I repeated.  
  
She put her lips back between my legs. I clamped my hand over my mouth. That was a mistake because then I could moan against my hand. No student needed to hear that. Ever.  
  
I opened my mouth and throat wide and tried to let my breath rush in and out without making too much noise. That worked until she pulled my inner lips into her mouth and sucked on them. I gasped and she moaned against me. Not at all helpful in the not-making-a-sound department.  
  
<Fuck,> I whispered in Russian, and that felt good, the right balance between the tremendous pressure in me and the need for release.  
  
There is a kind of Russian folk poem that can be quite obscene. I memorized them when I could find them so I could mutter them around Kitty at inappropriate times. I remembered one, very relevant, and changed a few words before whispering it to Kitty in Russian:  
  
<I came to a birthday party  
To a pretty girl  
And she grabbed my dick  
In front of all the people>  
  
Kitty was half-laughing, her mouth still pressed hard against me, so the motion transferred, reverberating deep inside me. Seeing her laughing eyes, feeling her tongue rocking against me, I came, holding myself up on the desk, barely.  
  
Kitty helped me not fall over by standing up, pressing into me, her leg between mine.  The pressure extending the wave of pleasure inside me. She had one arm tight around me, the other also bracing on the desk, her face buried in my hair, chest against mine, rising and falling as fast.  
  
When I could slow my breath, I curled my hand around the back of her head and turned her face so I could kiss her and lick the taste of myself off her lips. She made a soft, whimpered moan.  
  
I kissed along her cheek to her ear and whispered, "I want to fuck you, but Kurt's going to teleport in here any second, I'm sure."  
  
"No … told him to keep out."  
  
"When?"  
  
"Um."  
  
"You _did_ put him up to this," I said, more appreciative than annoyed because she was in my arms and my pants were off and I felt amazing.  
  
"Worth it … you were … When you got into lecturing, your accent got stronger. I could watch you teach that all day."  
  
"Only watch?" I asked.  
  
I turned us a little sideways and held up a hand, two fingers raised together. Gave her a questioning look. She took my hand in both of hers, raised my third and forth finger, put them next to the first two. Four? It had been a while since …  
  
She circled all four of my fingers with her hand. Oh fuck yes.  
  
I spun us so she was against the desk, put one leg between hers and undid her belt. She watched every tiny motion of my fingers, eyes wide, breathing fast.  
  
“No phasing,” I said. “You want something to remember when you do paperwork?”  
  
I got her pants open and jerked them down around her knees. She gasped and moaned quietly as I turned her and bent her forward over the desk. I ran my hand over the curve of her ass.  
  
“Wait,” she yelped.  
  
I moved back a half-inch and she pushed up on an elbow, lifted a sheet of paper. “That’s got to go to the parents, we can’t mess it up.”  
  
I grabbed everything on that side of the desk and swept it onto the floor. “Other side?” I asked.  
  
“Yes please,” her eyes had gone very soft, open, dark. Thank the gods she had a thing for my violent streak. I tossed everything onto the floor.  
  
I moved behind her again, bent over her, whispered in her ear, “I hear it’s best to get a ‘yes’ frequently during sex.”  
  
“Yes,” she said. “Oh yes. Please, yes.”  
  
She was grinding back against me, very wet on my upper thigh. I got my hand between us and slid my fingers up and down between her lips. She was so wet, I wasn't going to have to worry about the fact that all our lube was two floors away.  
  
"Are you sure?" I teased.  
  
I liked seeing her spread across the desk, the crisp white collar of her shirt askew under all her dark hair coming loose from her bun. Her ribbed sweater rode up above the small of her back and below that her bare ass and legs.  
  
This was what the students didn't get about us being married, knowing each other so well all these years--that it got so much simpler and infinitely more complex. We could just say what we wanted and yet, she kept surprising me. Like this, today, her office, the middle of the afternoon.  
  
"Ilya, please, I need you," she said.  
  
I could not resist. I groaned, too loud I'm sure, and slid inside her. I tried to go slow, but she pushed back, took more of me in, so much. I braced the base of my hand against my body and fucked her.  
  
She was meeting my thrusts but also pressing herself against the edge of the desk. I leaned forward over her, taking some weight on my hand, and brushed my lips across her neck. I wanted to be closer to her lips, to the sounds she was making, needy and helpless. I was inside her down to my knuckles, my whole world narrowed to my hand, the powerful, silken feel of being insider her, the sweet musk rising around us.  
  
"How do you know if a girl has an orgasm?" I whispered.  
  
"She has to ask Grey … to put a psychic damper … over her office," Kitty panted.  
  
Then she said "yes" a lot more, and a lot louder and came all over my hand. I came again too from the pressure of the base of my hand against me, and the feeling of being inside Kitty, her muscles squeezing around my hand, the rising sounds she made. Louder than me for once.  
  
We were slumped in a sweaty pile of happiness on the desk for a bit. I pulled away and helped the two of us slide down to sitting on the floor. Kitty curled into me and I wrapped my arms around her tightly.  
  
I nuzzled the side of her head. "So you're saying you asked Grey, mentally, in the middle of sex, to psychically sound-dampen the office? I did _not_ know she could do that."  
  
"You'd be too dangerous with that knowledge," Kitty mumbled into my collarbone.  
  
"Are you going to have Grey psychically dampen the fact that your office smells like sex?" I asked.  
  
"No, that's half the point of doing this here," she said. "I'm going to ask her to make everyone think it's a really bad idea to disturb me for the rest of the day. You have no idea how much paperwork I have to get through. And grading, seriously, so much grading. Now at least I might make it through some."  
  
"If we go again on the floor, will you make it through all of it?" I asked.  
  
"One way to find out."  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Illyana's dirty Russian poem is a variant from this wonderful paper about sexual metaphor in Russian poetry, if anyone's curious: https://www.academia.edu/524062/Sexual_Metaphors_in_Russian_Chastushka


	3. Grey's Anatomy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's that time of the school year again and this time Illyana isn't getting stuck teaching Safer Sex for Mutants ... until a prank on Rachel Grey goes sideways. And then a lot more sideways.

  
This quarter, I planned a trip during the week in which “Safer Sex for Mutants” would be offered, so Grey couldn’t pawn it off on me again. In truth, I kind of wanted to teach it, but I could not let her win. So I decided to turn the tables. I planned the trip, but I didn’t take it.  
  
Half an hour before the class, I teleported into the room and swapped out the stack of student questions for a stack I’d written. Five minutes before class, I snuck in with a group of students and sat in the back. A few spotted me, but I put my finger to my lips. I had on a ball cap and a baggy sweatshirt and a don’t-notice-me spell, plus Grey couldn’t read my mind, so this would work at least for a few minutes.  
  
This was the difference between Grey’s and my teaching style:  
  
Me: _Fucking shut up and learn this so you don’t die._  
  
Grey: _I believe if I can explain to you in minute detail something you will never actually need in a fight, you’ll learn the discipline necessary to excel in all your mutant endeavors._  
  
That was either going to make for a hilarious safer sex seminar, or we'd get our faces bored off our skulls. My fake questions would hopefully push us into that first option.  
  
Grey came in precisely on time, wearing a stylish long jacket that evoked the sense of a blazer without being one and the sense of her old uniform without being that either. She picked up the stack of cards, looked at the first and frowned. Read the second, frowned more. Flipped through them fast, getting mad and madder.  
  
I was not laughing … much. This never would’ve worked in one of her regular classes, but since this event brought in students from around the school, there were a few she didn’t know. Enough that I could briefly blend in.  
  
"Who wrote these?" she asked. When there was no answer, she said, "Look these are obviously the work of the same person. So who swapped this for the real stack? If you don't tell me, you're all getting detention."  
  
Telepathic detention sucked. I wasn’t doing that to anyone. I sat upright and pulled off my baseball cap. "Busted," I said.  
  
"Rasputin! What do you think you’re doing?"  
  
"Remember that time you foisted this class off to me with fifteen minutes to prepare?"  
  
"Honestly! How would you answer any of these?" She waved the cards at me.  
  
I went up and took the cards from her. Held the first one out to her and said, "This one's easy: consent and don't use cooking oil. Second one: no, never live animals, not even if they're trained and it’s your mutant power. Third, clone sex … okay, yeah, that one's a tough call. But if she's Ukranian, the answer is probably no."  
  
"Oh really," Grey said and telekinetically jerked the cards over to where she could grab them. "It's always no with clones if they’re yours. If not, they’re just like anyone else.”  
  
I leaned over, pointing, "You have to read the second part."  
  
"Um, Professors, do we actually get to learn stuff today?" one of the students asked.  
  
"Yes, sorry," I pulled the real stack of questions out of my sweatshirt pocket, dropped them on the desk next to Grey and headed for the door.  
  
"Get back here," Grey snapped. "You don't get to set me up and bail. You're answering all the tough ones."  
  
"Which ones do you think are tough?" Nothing could be harder than the Kree tentacle junk roleplay that Kitty made us do last time.  
  
I missed Kitty. She was in DC again and I’d been thinking when the school day was over, I might teleport out there. Maybe naked, if I could be sure she was in her hotel room alone.  
  
Grey flipped through the stack, pulling out cards and setting them on the desk. Halfway through, she got impatient and dumped most of the remaining cards on the desk pile, pushed it toward me.  "There, that's your pile,” she said.  
  
"After you."  
  
She answered a bunch of tame questions, not that different from last time, while I tried to figure out where to start. The ones she’d given me, at least the top few, were not that interesting.  
  
So I made one up: "Rach, if you have sex telepathically, does it count?"  
  
“Of course. Telepathic sex has the same emotional implications as physical sex. If you’re going to make up questions, you have to do better than that.” She paused, raised an eyebrow and asked, “What about magic sex?”  
  
“That’s not a thing. Magical sex, at least figuratively, and sex magic, for sure.”  
  
A hand went up in the back of the room from a delightfully snarky student who’d had two quarters of sorcery instruction from me. “What’s sex magic? And what year do you teach it?”  
  
“Sorry, Dr. Strange guest lectures that. He has a lot of charts and the test has so many pages, I haven’t passed it all yet,” I deadpanned and watched expressions switch from humor to worry. “But since you asked, sex magic can mean one or both of two things: first, using the sexual energy channels in your body to work magic, and second, using sex as part of a ritual.”  
  
“Is any of that safe?” Grey asked.  
  
“It’s not the safest. Depends on the ritual and who you’re doing it with. And apparently using your sexual channels to do the bulk of your magic is a bad idea, but that must be on a part of the test I haven’t gotten to yet because I couldn’t tell you why. … Hey, wait, is telepathic sex safe?”  
  
“You need to be aware of the emotional, cultural and relational implications,” she said. “And it produces dopamine the way physical sex does, so there’s the same chance of crushed out or in love feelings to navigate. Too often we reduce notions of safer sex to purely physical considerations when the emotional landscape is often more complex and fraught.”  
  
Thus making sex sound awkward, inadvisable and weirdly academic. How did she ever get laid? Wait, she probably called it, “making love.” Okay, sometimes I did too, but only when Kitty was involved.  
  
“Do you have a pamphlet on that?” I asked.  
  
“As if you’d read it. Students, please remember that any kind of sex can produce a powerful neurotransmitter response that at your age you’ll have scant experience with.”  
  
She paused for a breath and I cut in, “What she’s saying is: if you’re having sex, there’s going to be feelings. Might be your feelings, might be the feelings of the other person or people. Expect this, make space for it, talk about it and if it gets weird, we have excellent counseling staff. And even if Grey _can_ read their minds, she doesn’t give a crap about your sex life.”  
  
Grey rolled her eyes at me and went back to the cards, flipped over a few, jerked her head back in surprise and held the card out to me. It said: _what do I do if the condom comes off and gets stuck in my inner parts and I can’t get it out?_  
  
Telepathically, me to Grey: _What the fuck? Does that happen?_  
  
Grey, smugly: _Telekinetics never have this problem._  
  
Me: _really? I could swear you’ve got something stuck up your …_  
  
Grey: _Screw you. Answer it._  
  
Out loud I read the question calmly and said, “Go see the doctor. Or you can ask Professor Pryde if she’d kindly phase it out of you, but trust me, the doctor’s going to be less embarrassing for everyone involved.”  
  
Grey gave me a look. “How do _you_ know Kitty can do that?”  
  
“Last year when Forge was choking and she phased that piece of chicken out of his throat. When would I be around condoms?”  
  
Grey shrugged and I turned back to the class to clarify: “I can say that because I’m in a relationship where we know each other’s STI status. There’s nothing wrong with condoms. I don’t care what your gender, orientation, physiology, species or powers, if you’re with someone new and they’ve got something moist that you want to touch with something moist—wrap it.”  
  
I flipped through my cards until I found one for Grey and handed it over.  
  
She read it aloud, “‘If I’m sexually active but I’m part of a hive mind where the other nodes are asexual or not interested, how much responsibility do I have for protecting them from my memories and fantasies?’ … Sex is like any other private activity in a hive or linked mind. If the group already has an understanding about, for example, bathroom practices, then extend that to your sex life. The danger is that because you like it, and you’re probably high on endorphins and dopamine, you’ll tend to be more open. It’s not fun, but you have to learn to compartmentalize it the way you’d compartmentalize anything you don’t want to share.”  
  
“So basically, wrap it,” I said.  
  
“You’re going to give that answer to every question for the rest of class, aren’t you?”  
  
“If the condom fits …”  
  
She stared at me with a mix of annoyance, mild hate, appreciation and one of those emotions that can only be described in German, like _fremdschämen_.  
  
An intrepid student asked, “So, like, what if the condom doesn’t fit?”  
  
“If it’s too big, trying holding the base so it doesn’t slip,” Grey said. “If it’s too small, well, they come in a lot of sizes. If you have extraordinary genitals, ask the doctor. She’s come up with solutions for just about everyone, so she’ll work out something for you. And that’s all confidential in medical.”  
  
I was deep in my stack of cards trying hard not to say “extraordinary genitals” back to Grey and burst into laughter. Later I was so using that. If I could just merge it with a _Grey’s Anatomy_ reference, my day would be perfect.  
  
“Here’s a good one,” I said, tapping the card in my hand: “My homeworld is much more genderfluid than the culture here. We start playing with twelve genders and go from there. But my partner only feels validated when I insert my genitals into their bodily openings and now, seeing the media here, I’m feeling a lot of pressure to do that. What should I do?”  
  
Grey said, “This is hard to integrate at the ages you are, but you’re not responsible for your partner feeling validated in a larger cultural context. One-on-one validation is great, but you never have to use your body to right a cultural imbalance. You can have sex for a lot of reasons, but those should be between you and your partner or partners. I’d encourage the person who asked this question to talk more about customs on their homeworld. Help your partner understand there are many ways to have a sexual relationship.”  
  
At the same time she was answering, she broadcast into the outskirts of my mind: _Oooh next how about: my partner wants to play with my tail, what should I do?_  
  
_You are an entire bag of cocks,_ I thought back at her. _Why don’t you answer: my friend is sexualizing the markings of my trauma, what if I don’t want to show her my tattoos?_  
  
_Is this an ‘I’ll show you mine if you show me yours’ moment?_ Grey asked, which stumped and shocked me because that sounded flirty.  
  
I flipped a question to the back (we’d answered a version of it already) and read the next card without thinking, “What’s your safeword?”  
  
“Excuse me?”  
  
I caught up with what I’d said. Saw what was really on the card. Registered Grey’s startled tone.  
  
Then I could not help saying, “Of course that would be yours. Bet it works like a charm. Anyway, the question was, ‘What’s a safeword?’ And the answer is it’s a word or phrase, like ‘excuse me,’ that two or more people have agreed upon ahead of time to stop the action. It keeps everyone safe when you’re trying new stuff, hence safeword. Also some people use a system more like: green, yellow, red. That way you have a setting for pausing or going slow that isn’t a full stop.”  
  
_My safeword is not ‘excuse me,’_ Grey told me.  
  
_Is it ‘Oh shit, Phoenix!’?_  
  
_Is yours ‘Limbo?’_ she asked.  
  
_Nah, Kitty says that to me in bed way too often._  
  
_In what context? ‘Did you learn that in Limbo?’_  
  
_Yep._  
  
Her turn for a stunned silence.  
  
_Hey, time’s almost up,_ I thought at Grey. _And you haven’t yet said “be that as it may.” I’m going to be real disappointed if you lecture without saying that at least once._  
  
_Be that as it may, you’re still an ass._  
  
“We only have a few more minutes,” Grey said. “Are there any questions we haven’t covered?”  
  
“What kind of rituals do you use sex magic for?” That came from the friend of my sorcery student, who’d probably put her up to it.  
  
“Crop fertility is the classic. General well-being of a geographic area. It works for large-scale healing or, if you’re good at circulating the energy in your own sexual energy system, personal healing. If you’re determined to try it, start with personal healing.”  
  
“So in sex magic, what do we wrap?” my student asked.  
  
I patted the top of my head. “You keep your energy circulating in your body. Don’t dissipate it up or you’ll end up exhausted. Also be smart about whose energy you let into your body. If you’re with someone whose energy is a lot more dense than yours, a lot hotter, a lot faster, or so on, you can end up feeling pretty physically miserable until your body works it out. Start slow and if you have questions come find me. Just no physical details. I don’t need to know that part.”  
  
“Be that as it may,” Grey said and nearly winked at me. “Class is over but do not hesitate to share physical details with medical staff and mutant power details with any of us. Also anyone who’s wondering if you should talk to one of our counselors, please do.”  
  
The room cleared. I stacked my index cards and held them out to Grey. “Well that was educational. I feel like we should go drink beers.”  
  
“Do you even drink beer?” She took the cards and put them on hers, tucked the lot into her pocket.  
  
“Not when there’s vodka around, but I’m trying to go easy on you. I hear you’re a lightweight.”  
  
She said, “That is a mean rumor started by the Wolverines because I went drinking with them and didn’t calculate for their super livers.”  
  
Grey stared across the room and all the desks straightened themselves. All the chairs tucked themselves neatly into place. A crumpled piece of paper hopped up and shot itself into the trash can.  
  
Okay sometimes telekinesis was about as badass as magic.  
  
“I go drinking with the Wolverines all the time,” I said. Not adding that I used magic to avoid getting smashed. Nobody could stand drinking with Logan and Laura without some kind of outside intervention. Gods help us when Gabby turned twenty-one.  
  
“Well, we’re not doing what you and Kitty did last quarter,” Grey said, half turned back toward me and smirking.  
  
I leaned back against the big desk at the front of the room and crossed my arms. “Really? I was so going to fuck you over one of these little student desks in the middle of the afternoon.”  
  
“Rasputin, if we ever did, I won't be the one on the bottom.”  
  
“Oh you think so? You want a telepathic vs. magic sex fight? Because I can take you.”  
  
That got her to turn fully around, eyes all white. I am a damned fool for all-white eyes. They’re like my third favorite after Kitty and demon colors.  
  
“You’re not actually going to …” I shut up because she’d walked up to me, inches away, and was pushing hard against my anti-telepath spells.  
  
_I thought you wanted to see my tattoos,_ she said.  
  
I kind of did. Also one or more of us was horny as fuck and I wasn’t sure it was me. This close, with that much force, it was getting hard to tell where I ended and where she began.  
  
_I’m not showing you my tail._  
  
_I’ve seen your tail. You have no idea how much I fucking know about your tail, Rasputin._  
  
Kitty would never tell her, wouldn’t let her see … just no way.  
  
And then it hit me, all at once and much too completely. Years ago, after I’d died, Kitty was with Rachel. She wouldn’t have been shielded at all. And she had no reason to try to keep us secret with me gone. And she’d probably still been thinking about me, missing, remembering.  
  
Grey knew everything about my first relationship with Kitty.  
  
If I hadn’t been so furious, I’d have appreciated how good she’d been not to let me know that all these years.  
  
I grabbed all the force Grey pushed at me, funneled it into my inner channel, translated psychic force into magical power, reinforced it with my energy and sent it back to her.  
  
Her eyes got very wide. Mouth open. Chest heaving in a very suggestive and stupidly hot way in that shirt.  
  
_That feels like …_ she started and didn’t have to finish the thought.  
  
_It’s called sex magic for a reason._  
  
The way I sent the energy at her, diffuse and slow, should fall somewhere between painful arousal and infuriatingly pre-orgasmic teasing. I could do other things with it, but never would without consent. Plus I was too mad to trust myself right now and, even if she was wildly a “yes,” I was pretty sure that would count as having some kind of actual sex.  
  
In retaliation—if it was right to call it that—she showed me her tattoos. I still had the sense of her standing in front of me fully dressed, but I could also see her naked and not with her skin cleaned up the way she normally looked.  
  
The tattoos weren’t just on her face. And they weren’t artistic. What those harsh lines running down her body said about ownership, sex and power in the future she came from—unbelievably brutal. Dehumanizing. I wanted to wipe them away, touch them and make them right. I wanted to do everything in my power to make her forget them.  
  
I wanted to kill the people who’d done that and the ones who’d thought of that.  
  
I didn’t want to see—but I couldn’t stop looking.  
  
“Остановись,” I said. “ _Ostanovis_. That’s my safeword.”  
  
The image vanished, back to her everyday teacher wear. She pulled a very normal looking tissue our of her completely not-traumatizing pocket and dabbed at the blood tricking from her nose. At least I’d given as good as I got in the telepathy vs magic fight.  
  
“Translation?” she asked.  
  
“It means: ‘stop that.’”  
  
“You’re shaking.”  
  
“I want to kill some people.” I leaned back against the broad desk again and wrapped my hands around its edges. Both because I wanted to hit things and because I wanted to put my hands on her a lot—and that just didn’t work.  
  
“Well, you can teleport in time. Maybe someday you will.” She looked away, still holding the tissue to her nose, said more quietly, “I’m sorry I teased you about your tail. And I shouldn’t have shown you.”  
  
“Nah, it’s okay, you can. Both the tail and the tattoos. But you’re still a коза, a stupid goat.”  
  
“Rasputin, don’t think I haven’t noticed.”  
  
I shouldn’t ask, but of course I had to. “What?”  
  
“In all the years we’ve been teaching here, with everything you’ve called me, you never once called me a bitch.”  
  
I studied the top of the desk, the fine grain in the wood, so I wouldn’t have to look at her. Of course I’d never call her that. Too close to “hound.” And she’d never called me a demon or damned or anything like that.  
  
She could be stuck up and a jerk and piss me off—and I had to naturally hate her a little for being Kitty’s ex even though I was so glad she’d been there for Kitty. Plus I hated that she had her shit more together than I had mine. That she’d been through all that, been a hound, and seemed to act a lot more normal than I did. Envy, maybe? Yeah. She’d been the fucking Phoenix for a lot longer than me, I was only one-fifth of it, and people were still more afraid of me. Though, I kind of liked that.  
  
And with all that, mostly because of it, I liked her. I never wanted to hurt her in any real way. I trusted her. Shit, in some parallel universe, I probably was fucking her over a desk right about now … or she was … I mean, with that telekinesis and all … could she just get on top of me and fuck me with her mind? How did that feel? Given her mind and her ego, probably really big.  
  
The silence got long and awkward and weird. I couldn’t just walk out because she was between me and the door.  
  
She moved forward until her chest almost touched mine. Put her mouth way too close to my ear. “Did you know that if you use sex magic on me, even a little, and then stand around, right in my face, wondering what it feels like to have me inside you … it kind of leaks through all your fancy magic to right where I can see it.”  
  
“How long do you think that’s going to last?” I asked, really hoping the answer was five minutes or less.  
  
“Do you mean if we both go back to our individual rooms alone, on some paper-thin premise like taking a shower, are we going to feel each other getting off even across the campus? Probably.”  
  
“But does that count as sex?” I tried to ask it lightly, but Grey’s body was so close to mine and she smelled like the sun blazing down on a field of tall grass where a lion stalked prey.  
  
“It does if we’re still thinking about fucking each other,” she said.  
  
“Dr. Strange was right, I’ve got to learn some other way to channel power.  Can I interest you in some vodka and TV reruns in the teachers’ lounge?”  
  
Grey stepped back and I could sort of breathe again. She seemed to be having as much trouble controlling hear breathing at least, and her hands were clenching and unclenching. I moved along the desk away from her.    
  
“What are we watching?” she asked, vaguely casual-sounding.  
  
“Grey’s Anatomy,” I said.  
  
She laughed and smiled back at me. “Коза.”  
  
“Go change into something with less cleavage. Do you have any burlap? I’ll get the vodka and teach you to swear properly in Russian.”


End file.
